All Good Things
by MissAtomicBomb77
Summary: This is the end of Charlie and Leona's story. Character death.
1. Monday, March 24, 2014

**Author's Lengthy Note: Do-si-do and here we go...**

**This is the last part of a three part series about Charlie Skinner and his relationship with Leona Lansing and his wife Nancy. This really all came out of the my activity in the Newsroom Role Playing Group over on Tumblr, #askacn, with a lot of help in particular from the player that is Charlie.**

**I've**** been really stuck on this whole idea for a few reasons and I think the main one is this: Charlie and Leona's back stories are wide open. You have a hint of what kind-of-sort-of might have happened, but not really. Not to mention that Aaron Sorkin himself says that he could imagine a relationship between the two of them.**

**I'm writing the ending first, because it is the least research intensive. I'm still doing a lot of research for it, but Charlie and Leona's story does require much, much more. I've got books arriving from Amazon and seven or eight obituaries from journalists for the past parts that need to be written.**

**This story takes place in ten chapters, each representing a day. There are supplements that will be included in the story – two obituaries and perhaps a tabloid article. They will each get their own chapter, so a chapter that is not a named date is one of these supplements.**

**Because the following things have not been established as I have started this work, please note the following: Nancy, Charlie's wife would be played by Mary McDonnell. Her maiden name for the sake of the story is McCoy. Leona's ex-husband has not been mentioned by name, so I am calling him Arthur in the meantime. He would be played by Jon Voight. Leona's maiden name is Lefebvre and her parents were Willem and Katherine. No one is cast as her mother, she's only mentioned by name, as is her father, but he would be played by Willem Defoe in the past. (He's not in this story, but I already know who needed to be that part.)**

**This story takes place in the not too distant future and the only tidbit you need to be aware is that the McAvoy's are married already.**

**This story does contain a major character death.**

**Find me at missatomicbomb77 dot tumblr dot com if you want to see rough chapters and anything Charlie/Leona.**

* * *

"Hey Charlie," Will McAvoy says as he enters his office for the first time that morning. He sets his cup of takeout coffee on his desk and begins to settle in for the day, depositing his messenger bag on the desk and removing his jacket. He was taking his boss' appearance in his office stride. Eighty percent of the time, it was nothing serious and it was just a casual re-connection from when they may have last seen one another. When Charlie's return greeting wasn't forthcoming, Will slowed to look at Charlie. "Charlie?"

Charlie sat at the table in Will's office, lost at the window for a moment. He was nine thousand miles away in his mind and it did take him a good few seconds to come back to the present time and to Will. "Good Morning!" Charlie boomed. "How was your weekend?" The moment that he was done speaking he lost again, staring back out of the window.

"Uh, good, thanks. What's going on Charlie?" Will waited for a response as one beat became two, and two became four.

Charlie's voice was quiet, which was something that made the fine hair on Will's arms stand on end. "When Mackenzie… before she told you… did she seemingly shut down? Stop talking to you…" _Not wanting to see you_, he finishes asking in his own mind. He was using all his energy not to become emotional, but he was having a very hard time keeping his lower lip from trembling.

Will glances at the door of his office, and seeing that it was wide open made the quick strides across his office to close it. "Charlie," Will says as he comes to sit at the table with Charlie. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Charlie shook his head no, almost too violently. "It's just been strange. We used to talk so openly about everything and anything but now…" _It's all text messages and one word emails and _"I'm not sure what's happening right now." Charlie is not entirely sure what he's even said aloud or to himself at this point. "I can't tell what she's thinking."

Will finds himself looking at his hands and he sees the gold wedding band on his own finger, not very different from the one on Charlie's. He can understand why Charlie's here yet at the same time can't even begin to comprehend what he could be feeling on the other side of a wedding band and a possible ending of a marriage. Will and Mackenzie fought so very long and hard to get here; the memory of the pain they caused each other is distant in his memory.

"She's struggling with something she can't share." Charlie tells him, "I know that she is, it's the only scenario I can see that leaves me out and I'm not..." He becomes quiet for a few moments.

The only thing that Will can think to do is to reach across the table and grip his friend and mentor's shoulder in a show of love and support.

Will is shocked when the silence is snapped by Charlie himself and he gets to his feet. "Well anyway," Charlie bellows, "I hope you have a good week then."

Charlie has burst out the door and Will isn't quite sure what has just happened, except that maybe Charlie has aged ten years in the course of a weekend.


	2. Friday, April 4, 2014

Charlie is in his office, staring at his computer screen, open to his email program. He easily receives thousands of emails a day. He has a system in place to deal with the majority of them. The bulk of them are alerts about certain topics outside of iNews. For example, he has an alert set for when anything about Will McAvoy shows up from outside media outlets. There are no messages there, haven't been roughly since his nuptials and honeymoon.

There are actually very few emails that come straight into his actual inbox and that is by design. Obviously so that he can give his full attention to those few emails that make it through the maze of filters and auto responses that he's crafted over the years. Today he's waiting, anxious, nay desperate for a new email. He would be one of the first to tell you that he's become spoiled by the innovation in communication, spoiled by the speed of responses. He would also be the first in line to tell you that this same innovation has spoiled the generation of newsmen (and newswomen) after him.

He's waiting impatiently now for a response to his latest email to Leona. She has had days in the past where she hasn't necessarily responded right away. Many of the emails they exchange require in-depth responses. Charlie remembers that he tried to talk to Will a few weeks ago about it, but looking back, he know that he did not get his point across to Will. Leona was usually very good about sending him an acknowledgement, either that she's researching the topic or planning a lengthy response later. Even those kinds of messages had faded recently and she devolved to single sentences and even in a few cases, single word responses.

He had been a little passive aggressive in his latest email diatribe about the Washington DC bureau, crafting his words so that she would have to respond with something more than a singular response. Yet there was nothing. It was creeping on six hours since he sent that email. Part of him was anxious for her response while another part chastised his longing because there was once upon a time that he had to wait days for a response from Leona.

It was feeding into his ever-growing and overwhelming fear that there was something deeply wrong. Charlie is fighting the urge to just fire off that email that simply says '_What the fuck, Leona?_' He's trying to let his cooler head prevail and convince himself that it's nothing. Yet that line of thought is not working. There was only one other time in his life that his longing to hear from Leona was this acute. He's trying to push that memory down as much as possible because if he thinks about it too hard or too long, he will go insane and will undoubtedly bring the news division down with him if he spirals out of control.

Out of nowhere, Reese Lansing pops his head in the office. "Lunch on Monday still a go?"

It takes Charlie a moment to respond. "Of course it is Reese. Will Leona be joining us?" He hasn't actually seen Leona in six weeks, but six weeks ago, she was responding to the god damned emails.

"Nah," Reese responds, dismissive. "She's still at that spa upstate. She said she'd be back next week."

_Yes,_ Charlie thought, well, _that's what she said six weeks ago. _"Have you heard from her today?" He's trying not to sound desperate and is fairly certain that Reese hasn't heard the longing in his voice. For as smart as Reese is, sometimes he blows over the subtleties and this would be one of the few times that Charlie would grateful if he did.

"No. But who are we kidding? She's probably getting baked and having a pedicure." Reese is out of the doorway fast enough to legitimately ignore Charlie's annoyed shout of his name.

* * *

Nancy had called him at about 3AM that night. She had woken up to find that he had not come home. To a degree she was not surprised and felt that she knew why, but she still called him anyway. For him not to come home during the week was not unexpected, it was strangely normal for them, but the weekends had always been different. For the last few weeks, she could tell that he was having difficulty with something, but she waited for him to be forthcoming. Nancy had learned a lifetime ago that if she just waited for Charlie to tell her, he would.

He made himself difficult to love and she knew the moment they met that he had done that by design. Because she was willing to wait him out he eventually told her everything. He was the only person he had ever told absolutely everything to. Rarely did she have to prod him or solicit an answer from him when he was troubled. This time though, it was different. His abstract sadness permeated even the simple things he did the last few weeks.

He picked up his desk phone on the first ring. "I'm sorry." These are the words that tumble out of his mouth.

"Don't be." Nancy has this sweet, smoky soft voice, feminine, not at all giggly girly. "What is it?"

"Do you know?" He asks her.

"I have a guess." She pauses a moment. "Leona?" She gives him a moment and she knows that his silence is consent. "I love you. I'll be home when it's over."

"I know." His voice was a whisper and then he hung up the phone.

Charlie didn't bother to go home Friday night, the next night or the following night.


	3. Monday, April 7, 2014

He isn't quite sure if he's actually managed any sleep in the hours since he sent Leona the email Friday morning. He hasn't had a drink since he tried to talk to Will a few weeks ago. He supposes that if anyone actually knew that he was stone cold sober, there would have been questions. The thing people forget is that he's been drinking longer than some of the newsroom staff has been alive, so his tolerance is amazingly high. Plus, it never hurts to act a little zany to get a point across or to solicit information.

However, he did do something hadn't done in very long time. He stole every single one of Will McAvoy's cigarettes, lighter and ashtray leaving a few hundred dollars in their place. Hopefully, the news anchor would understand and not go crazy. It has been a very long time since he had smoked consistently. There was a long period in his life where that was normal, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he did, well, anything. When he and Nancy married, they both slowed in smoking, she having successfully quit before him. When they learned that she was pregnant with their daughter, he gave it up for the most part. Never again did he smoke at home.

He smoked his way through 9/11, but he was in no way alone.

Charlie had reached the point sometime in the early morning hours of Saturday that his world was in fact, crumbling around him and damn his lungs. He stayed in his office, but his state had rapidly deteriorated. He was in the same clothes, rumpled, jacket and tie shed long ago. He hadn't bothered to shave even though he had the means to do so. Food hadn't even been a consideration in any fashion.

Millie arrived at her usual time and seeing her boss in the state he was in, she knew immediately that every meeting was cancelled and every phone call was about to be blocked. However Millie was unable to prevent Will McAvoy from bursting into his office a few hours later. "Charlie, someone stole my fucking cigarettes and left a few hundred…" He took the time to look at his boss then and realized he had started to shout at the thief he was so anxious to hang mere seconds earlier. "Jesus, Charlie. You look like shit."

"Yeah," Charlie said his voice rough. "Hey Will."

"Charlie, what the hell is going on?" Will started at Charlie who was in a state he never expected to see Charlie Skinner in ever.

By this point the wheels had clearly fallen off the bus as Reese Lansing burst in, not even acknowledging Millie's attempt to stop him. "What the fuck Charlie? Millie called to cancel the meeting?" Reese paused. "What the hell is your problem Charlie?"

There was an oppressive silence as both Will and Reese, rarely united as of late, stared him down.

Then there was a ruckus outside his office and Rebecca Halliday, with Millie holding her by the arm and clearly frustrated she had lost control as her boss' sentry in the last ninety seconds dragged herself in the door, Millie still holding on saying that Charlie was in a meeting.

"Yeah, well, all meetings are cancelled." Rebecca is in jeans and black cotton t-shirt, her face red and blotchy, her dark hair up in a hasty bun on her head. She's clearly upset and she pries Millie off her arm and starts to ring her hands as she looks at Reese. "I went to your office first Reese and apparently I just missed you. Reese, your mother is dead."

Reese immediately lets out an exasperated sigh. "What are you talking about Rebecca? She's been at the damn spa for like weeks now…" As he says the words, they lose their steam as he looks at Rebecca.

"It wasn't a spa, Reese." Rebecca responds, her voice wavering. "She was at a hospice. When was the last time you talked to her?"

Reese has his hands on his hips, looking at her in disbelief and then at Charlie. "Uh, Thursday. Charlie?"

"Two weeks ago since I last spoke to her in person, Thursday was the last communication I had with her." It was the longest sentence he had strung together in three days.

Now Reese looked ashamed and his face paled. "Same. I hadn't actually spoken to her in weeks. She had been texting and emailing."

"I saw her Thursday." Rebecca admitted. "I went to visit today and they told me she had died after I had left that evening." Rebecca choked back a sob. "She's been cremated. She fucking" her voice cracked "lied and said that she had no family or anyone that would claim her. So the hospice handled it with per her wishes and couldn't even be bothered to call me, even though I had been visiting consistently for weeks!"

At once, Will remembered the conversation that Charlie had tried to have with him two weeks ago. Will had foolishly thought he was talking about Nancy, when in fact Charlie had been trying to talk to him about Leona.

"DID YOU KNOW?" Reese screamed at Charlie. "DID YOU FUCKING KNOW?"

"He didn't know." Will said. "HE DIDN'T KNOW!" Will was now looking at the floor. "He suspected, but he didn't know."

Charlie leaned back in his office chair and closed his eyes. He let his hot tears stream silently down his face. _God damn it Leona, why didn't you tell me?_


	4. Tuesday, April 8, 2014

"Hi Will." Nancy Skinner opens the front door to admit him inside. The home is a classic colonial type home and Will secretly envies the white house with a red door and its green grass and oversized trees in the back.

"How's he doing?" Will asks as he shifts his messenger bag from one shoulder to the other as takes off his suede jacket. Nancy waits to take it from him to hang it on the wall behind the door.

She catches her reflection in the hall mirror for a moment and she can see that she looks tired, even though she tried to clean herself up for Will's arrival. She turns and leads him to the kitchen. She doesn't need to because he's been here many times before. "Okay, I suppose. He slept for about fourteen hours after you brought him home yesterday. We had a light meal of tomato soup and homemade crackers before he went back to sleep – about 2AM, I think."

"How about you, how are you doing Nan?" He can tell she's dressed for the day, her red hair long and layered, fluffed out and the casual grey sweater and jeans, but he knows she's got to be exhausted.

"A new kind of tired, if that's even possible. Every minute he's been asleep, I've been awake worried about him." They come to the great room of the home and they naturally gravitate to the island in the kitchen.

"You should have called me. Mac and I would have been more than happy to be here while you got some rest."

She waved her hand. "Sophie will be home in time for dinner, she had an exam this morning she couldn't miss. I'll be okay. Where is Mac?" Nancy reached for the clean empty coffee mugs that were waiting for Will's arrival and began to serve them both.

"She's at the office working on some details for Thursday. The church is by invitation only so she's sorting who actually gets to come and who doesn't from the news division. Has Reese asked if Charlie would sit with him?"

"He called and asked. When Charlie was up last night, Charlie called Reese back and accepted. I figured that Mac and I could sit together since you're giving the eulogy?"

"Of course," Will said, "I wanted to run it by you both first, if you didn't mind." He reached into his messenger back and produced the yellow legal pad he had used.

"I don't mind. Did you read the obituary in the Times?"

"No. I imagine there are dozens of them out by now."

"The one from the Times is the best one so far. You should send flowers or something. They only had to wait forty-three years to be right. The Washington Post has a few the dates mixed up, but wasn't horrible."

"What about the Times?" Will asked after taking a sip of his coffee. "What did you mean about the forty-three years?"

Nancy set her coffee down. "Leona never told you about that? They thought she died in Cambodia in 1971. The Times ran her obituary. Of course, she wasn't married then, so it probably wouldn't come up in any searches under Lansing."

"I knew that she and Charlie were embedded reporters there and that was how they met. It was kind of a general knowledge fact that no one really went after." Will crinkled his nose a little. "What was her maiden name?"

"Lefebvre."

"Saved a fortune on monograming, didn't she?"

Nancy tried to hide her smile and failed. "Yeah."

"Excuse me one second." Will dug into his pocket and pulled out his Blackberry and found Jim Harper's number. Jim answered on the second ring. "Jim, Will. Can you find an obituary from The New York Times for a Leona Lefebvre, 1971?"

"April 1971." Nancy offered helpfully as she drank her coffee.

"April 1971. Email me when you have it." Will waited for Jim's acknowledgement before ending the call.

They sat in silence for a moment before Nancy spoke again. "You love Charlie, don't you Will?"

"Of course I do Nan. Charlie's like… like the father I wish I had."

She looked at her hands and nodded. "You know I love Charlie, don't you? I love him more than anything in the world."

"You've never given me cause to doubt that." His eyes narrowed at her. "What's going on?"

"Follow me." Nancy leads Will across the great room towards the master suite, but stops at door before the bedroom, which was Charlie's office.

Charlie's office which was all dark wood and mallard green like a pool hall was the only room in the house with televisions, out of need rather than desire. They were built in on one wall while the other had nothing but filling cabinets. There were bookcases behind the desk that faced the door, and those bookcases were stuffed with volumes of books. There was a set of oversized green leather chairs that had been pushed out of the way for twenty or so black banker sized boxes stacked on the floor.

"Will. Do you know what's in these filling cabinets?" She gently draws her hand across the front of them, looking at them softly."

"Files?"

She turns at looks at him, her eyes flash amusement for a second. "Focus Will. Letters. Correspondence Charlie has engaged in since about the end of 1971."

He glances over the wall of filing cabinets. "I'm sure in his jobs over the years that he's written a lot of people."

"Not people, Will. Person. Singular. This is all correspondence from one person."

The room is quiet.

"That?" Will asks her, pointing at the black boxes.

"They were delivered this morning. I haven't told Charlie yet."

His hand drops to his side. "His letters to her."

"Yes. I can't say this to Charlie Will, but something is wrong with this whole situation. I know it, deep down, I know it. I need you to be aware that I'm not letting this go. I can't tell him because he needs me to support him now, not for me to break him beyond repair. If voice my fears and it turns out that I'm wrong and this is all what it's supposed to be, he will never forgive me. Never. But I need someone to know that I'm not letting go quite yet. Leona's hurt him and there has to be a reason why. When I find that reason, I'm going after it and I will not give a singular shit for anyone that gets in my way."

Will nods in understanding.

They are quiet for a moment longer. "Let's go and let me have a look at your draft."


	5. Leona Lefebvre, dead at 23

(This is the article Jim will be sending on to Will once he finds it.)

* * *

New York Times Staff, April 21, 1971

Leona Lefebvre – who was called Lee by her family and friends – would always the first person to ask a question or put herself out before a group of people, especially if it was about something that she was passionate about. To those that saw Lee before they truly knew her might have thought that she was a glamorous movie star instead of a tenacious newspaper reporter.

Leona Lefebvre was born in 1948 to Willem and Katherine (nee Stuart) Lefebvre in Rochester, New York. The family spent a lot of time in New York proper as her father is owner of Atlantis World Media, which claims newspapers, magazines and television as part of the company's vast holdings.

She attended Columbia University and graduated in 1968, the first class eligible to receive a Bachelor of Arts degree from the university. Friends indicate that she was part of the infamous Morningside Park protests and the counter commencement; her family denies this.

Her father let work for his paper Atlantis Daily News in New York, and instructed that she were to receive no special treatment and to work her way up the corporate ladder like anyone other journalist.

She wrote several articles and features, many about the counterculture of the youth that was graduating from her recent Alma Mater. The more she learned about the anti-war movement because of her research, the more she wanted to be where the action was. Within the year, she was looking to report from the front lines.

Because the editors refused to send her to Vietnam, without consulting anyone, she packed a suitcase, took her typewriter, and financed her own trip by selling all the jewelry she owned in order to travel to Canada to work as a freelance reporter. She was able to get a combination of news outlets to sponsor her trip in trade for a fixed number of articles and features.

Because her father was born in Canada, she was a Canadian Citizen by decent and used this to secure her entry into Cambodia.

Once in the country, she discarded her glamorous looks and took to wearing green fatigues and combat boots. Other associates would always comment how the secondhand helmet she owned took to inopportune times to block her vision. It was said more than once that she looked like a little boy trying to emulate a solider.

After fulfilling her freelance obligations, she was eventually hired by Agence France-Presse (AFP) because of her French language fluency and that she wasn't an American – on paper. She was such a dedicated reporter, AFP often had difficulty getting her to take the periodic "rest and rehabilitation" tours out of the country.

On one of these scheduled breaks, she traveled to South Vietnam and was interviewing some high ranking military officials when the location they were at was destroyed by an errant American helicopter rocket. She was knocked to the ground, but got right back up and ran back to aid the wounded and dying.

It was also on one of these scheduled breaks that she was lost. She was with a group of journalists that were traveling and became inadvertently ambushed during a skirmish between the Cambodians and North Vietnamese. Her body was found a few days later and cremated, as in accordance with Cambodian military regulation.

She is survived by her parents, both currently of New York.


	6. Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Nancy's eyes snapped open at seven in the morning, as usual. She rolled to her side towards Charlie, who was gently snoring. The sound relaxed her; it was an indication to her that he was becoming well rested again. The louder the snore meant he needed the sleep desperately. She looked at the back of her right hand to see yellow highlighter lines – seven.

Sophie had learned at a young age that when her parents were sleeping that it was imperative to let them sleep. Not to mention that Nancy and Charlie could sleep though the 1812 Overture sitting next to the canons. It was impossible for the young Sophie to stay away from her parents so they had devised a plan. Whenever she wanted to see them, she was allowed to come into their room and instead of waking them she was to use a highlighter to indicate that she had visited.

It was something Sophie grew out of in time, but every now and then, when there were extraordinary circumstances, the marks reappeared. Nancy decided she should get up and talk to their daughter while Charlie was still sleeping to field any of her questions. She decided to dress in the same clothes from yesterday for now.

Nancy wandered into the kitchen and took a seat in the breakfast nook fifteen minutes later watching her daughter finish making breakfast while wearing an oversized band t-shirt and jeans. She was occupied with making spinach omelets. "Good morning Mom. I knew you'd be up soon." Sophie was Nancy's clone, right down to the red hair and pale green eyes. In fact, there were two traits she got from Charlie; his A negative blood type and the joy of comparing things. Without being prompted, she brought Nancy a small glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. "Just a minute and breakfast will be ready."

Sophie was true to her word and soon she was sitting at the table with her mom. After a few minutes of eating together, Nancy finally asked. "Seven times?"

"Yeah, for Dad."

Nancy nodded. "He's not doing so well. He's better than he was when he found out, but he's still physically upset about it."

"I didn't know Leona was Catholic."

"I think lapsed Catholic would be the more appropriate term. The last time she stepped foot in a church was when Reese was baptized." Nancy sipped her coffee. "Is that why you were so keen to get down here? You just wanted to see St. Patrick's Cathedral?"

"No. I'm here for Dad. I've met Leona like, six times in my adult life. It's not that she wasn't anything but nice, but we didn't have a relationship."

"Yeah, that's almost how I feel in a weird way."

"I thought you were friends with her?"

You can't be friends with the woman that holds your husband's heart. "We were very respectful of each other and cordial to each other. We had a lot in common, but I gave up the news game when you were born. Not a lot of common ground with a woman that runs a billion dollar multimedia conglomerate." With the exception of Charlie, of course, she says to herself.

"I see your point. Have you been reading the obituaries? Wow! Each one of them has something different in them." Sophie jumps up from the table and runs to the hallway to grab some papers out of her messenger bag in the hall.

She dropped back to the table. "Answer the ones you know."

"Go." Nancy says, taking a drink of coffee.

"She was the first correspondent to reach the US Embassy on the first morning of the Tet Offensive?"

"False. That was you Dad. That was in 1968. She didn't get there until late 1969, early 1970."

"Strike against the New Zealand Herald. The Los Angeles Times said that her family held a memorial service for her at St. Patrick's Cathedral when they thought she was dead?"

"That one's true."

"Her picture is hanging on the wall in Chantal's, Phnom Penh's famous opium den?"

"Who said that one?"

"The Guardian. Is it true?"

"Sort of, if I remember correctly it was a group picture with your Dad and another photographer that was later shot."

"Burmese expert Bertil Linter kept trying to get her to write a book about her experience in Cambodia?"

"Mmhm." Nancy said, answering the question in mid sip of her coffee. "He leaned on your dad for a while too."

"The New York times only has four different obituaries. They dropped a copy of the original after someone tipped them off it was under her maiden name. Lefebvre to Lansing? Really? She saved a fortune on monograming."

Nancy laughed out loud. "That may have been Will and I. You're going to have a great time riding with Will and Mac to the services tomorrow."

"Really?" Sophie adored Will like a big brother and now Mac by extension.

"Yeah, Will even made the same joke about the monograming. He and Mac will be up here later tonight, I think still might go on air, but I'll let you know so you're here to greet them. I knew about that original obituary and was surprised that he didn't so he had someone dig it up for him. After he read it, he changed the eulogy a little bit."

"She was the only survivor of a building collapse."

"That one we'll have to ask your dad. You'll want to find some context. There were at least three instances that I can think of that could be in reference to."

"You should have written one of these. Damn, Mom."

Nancy snorted. "You know that your father and I don't keep secrets. Besides, I have to save it for my book, right?"

"How's that going?"

"Slow. I'm still trying to acquire some stuff from my days at CNN. I can type it, but I got to have the paperwork to back it up."

"Have you started writing about Kabul yet?"

Nancy paused and caught herself looking out the window into the backyard. "No. I thought I was getting close, but you're Dad had been kind of…off the last few weeks and it turns out that it was all about this."

"I'm sorry." Sophie got up and wrapped her arms around her mother. "I know you can do it. Even if it's not in the near future, I know you can."

Nancy patted her daughter's arms. "Thanks honey."

After a moment, Sophie broke the embrace. "I've got to go get an appropriate dress and some stockings. Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"Actually, can you get some of those little tissue packets, you know, the small ones? Oh, and some Campbell's tomato soup for your Dad. I only have two cans left and it's the only thing I've gotten him to eat. I'll text when I know Will and Mac are coming."

"You've got it Mom." Sophie planted a kiss on her mother's forehead and was gone shortly thereafter.

After sitting alone for several minutes, Nancy cleaned up the breakfast dishes and checked on Charlie, still sleeping. She would get him up shortly before all this sleeping wrecked his internal clock, but she had some phone calls to make he couldn't be aware of.

* * *

"Will!" Sophie screamed as the front door opened. Sophie Skinner may have been twenty-two years old, but she's known Will since she was nine. She adores him like the big brother she didn't have and he loves her like his little sister. This is one of those moments where she has reverted to being nine as she plows him over with a hug, having launched herself in the air to wrap around him like he was a tree.

He stumbled back and dropped his overnight back to keep her from knocking him to the floor. "Ump. Hey Sophie."

She jumped down and gave Mac a hug. "Come in! Mom's got a late dinner ready and Dad's out on the patio. I bought a bottle of Jameson for the ladies and some of your foo foo girly beer Will."

"Stella Artois is not a 'girly' beer."

Sophie stood with her hands on her hips, looking at Will. "When all the adult women in the house are drinking Jamison and you're drinking Stella Artois, it's a girly beer. Come on Mac."

Will acquired his beverage without any more heckles and made his way out to Charlie, who was sitting in an enclosed patio. The curtains were drawn back and all one could see was the darkness, but the view, if Will remembered correctly during the day was grand, and was perfect to watch Sophie play when she was younger. "Hey Charlie."

"Will, hey, hello." Charlie started to stand, but Will waved him down. "How are things at work?" Charlie leaned back in the wicker chair, arms back behind his head. Even though he was in his own home, he was still dressed as if he had gone to work. Button-down shirt, long sleeves rolled up, khaki slacks and a pair of obnoxious pair of plaid shocks. His feet were stretched out, resting on a complementing ottoman. He looked to Will, surprisingly relaxed. To Charlie's left was a side table, with a plate of cheese and crackers and a coffee mug.

"It's there, if that's what you're asking." Will takes a seat on the wicker sofa, choosing to hold on to his beer instead of setting it on the table in front of him.

"Sort of."

"The News Division is running just fine. Washington DC tried to start something but much to my pleasant surprise, Reese shut that down rather quickly."

"Yeah, well there was some undertow there that you aren't really aware of. Some stupid shit with one of the anchors and a former employee will probably be hitting the tabloids soon. I wasn't really worried about the News Division. I was more concerned about Reese."

Will took a slow drink of his beer. "He's not running around fucking with things, if that's your concern."

Charlie nodded. "Good. I actually never thought I would see the day he would be in charge." He looked at Will. "I think I even told him once that I would rather have been long dead before that ever happened."

Will grinned. "Yeah, I was convinced she was going to outlive me Charlie. "

"Leona and I fought. My guess is more than necessary for a President of a News Division and his boss to do so. Is it wrong to say that I'm going to miss fighting with her?"

"Not at all Charlie, I mean, you guys had known each other for what, like forty-five years? That's longer than some marriages."

"I liked fighting with her. I liked it when I could catch her off guard or when she gave me an exhausted sigh or point her finger accusingly at me. I'm going to miss the look in her eye when she was ready to launch a verbal attack that I might not have survived. Sometimes it's nice to know that you can touch somebody in a way that no other person could do. It was a guilty pleasure of mine, I suppose."

"I wouldn't feel guilty about it Charlie. It was how you connected with her."

Charlie nods and they are quiet for a few moments. "I will tell you one thing. I am not going to miss her taste in music. Miserable."

Will snorted. "Not everyone can be Frank Sinatra, Charlie."

"Well they should be. The noise that woman subjected me to. The Beatles, Chicago, the Allman Brothers. Now, there were a few good songs in there, like one or two, but Jesus, I have these memories of her playing that shit so loud. Noise, McAvoy. Noise."

"Hello boys." Nancy walked into the patio, holding a plate in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. "What are we talking about?"

"Yes, please share." Mackenzie is right behind, plate in each hand.

"Leona's horrible taste in music." Charlie says.

"You're horribly biased, so let's leave it at that, okay?" Sophie quipped from somewhere in the room behind her mother and Mackenzie.

Charlie laughed softly. Nancy brought him the mug and set it on the table next to him, planting a kiss on his forehead.

"Tell Mac how you met Leona." Sophie said, coming around to the other side of the coffee table, sitting on the floor with a plate of salad and handful of silverware and napkins.

"You were both reporters in Cambodia and Vietnam. I know." Mackenzie said, taking a seat next to Will, setting one plate on the table and offering the contents of the other to her husband.

"Tell her Dad. It's like out of a movie."

"A really bad, bad movie," Charlie responded. "Okay, only because of the request from the audience. But you're going to help me tell it. Set me up."

Sophie nods, because she has mouth full of salad. She finishes quickly. "It's March of 1970. Almost a year earlier, President Nixon has given the order to strategically bomb locations inside Cambodia that the People's Army of Vietnam and the Viet Cong were using for training and general misdeeds. But the extent of what was really happening was being whitewashed. We had troops on the ground and there were a number of operations that were taking place without the knowledge of Congress, let alone the American public. Anyway, in just a matter of days the North Vietnamese are about to invade Cambodia. Yet there's a small group of reporters that are venturing out to see the remains of the latest skirmishes in the country. They bribed a couple of Marines to drive them around to some of the locations recently scouted, including some minefields set up by the North."

Charlie nods. "So there's this United Press reporter named Dewey or something like that. Little Poindexter type kid, been there all of three weeks I think. So there are two jeeps, I'm in one with my interrupter and one of the marines - Davidson and in the other jeep the other marine - Stevens with Poindexter, his interrupter and Frenchie."

"He means Leona."

Charlie smiles at his daughter. "Don't get ahead of the story. We find a place to pull over to get some pictures on this dirt road that's looking over some open fields and see some locals we might be able to talk to, hoping they could verify for sure who set up the minefield. I remember asking Davidson who the she is and he tells me that her name is Lee and she's a reporter from Agence France-Presse, hence, Frenchie. Anyway I'm watching Leona and Poindexter while Leona is struggling with her helmet because it was like a size too big for her and she's trying to adjust the straps or something. The United Press guy is trying to talk her up. She's distracted, responding to him in French, oui, oui to whatever the hell he's saying. I think he's trying to lean in and wrap his arm around her while talking about the area – "

"Not knowing she's been there for about six months or so at that point." Sophie adds.

"And she swings to smack his arm away but she can't see and does this fantastic spin trip thing and falls off the edge of the road, rolling downhill into the minefield."

"She fell into a live minefield?" Mackenzie asks her eyes wide.

"More like a fantastic flying splat. She was incredibly lucky she didn't break something or trip a mine during her fall. My interrupter and I are yelling at her in French not to move hoping she understands us, because we have no idea if she's hit her head or realized she's in a live minefield. The guys tie a rope to the end of one the jeeps and I go down first after her because I can speak her language, right? It's a little nerve-wracking, but I manage to follow the same path she fell in to get to her and get us back to the hillside where the other guys could pull her up. The group decided that was an omen and we just high tailed it back to town. She rode with me on the way back. She lost her helmet though."

"What happened to the other guy?" Will asks, "The guy trying to impress her?"

"Everyone shamed him back to the stone age. He left Cambodia three weeks later." Charlie couldn't help but smile at the memory.

They talked for a while longer before calling it a very late evening and retreating to sleep. No one would have said it, but they all knew that tomorrow was in fact, going to be the longest and hardest day.


	7. Leona Lansing, Media Queen, dies at 67

Leona Lansing, Media Queen, Dies at 67

By The New York Times Staff April 8, 2014

Leona Lansing dubbed Queen of the Media Elite as owner of Atlantis World Media and one time correspondent during the Vietnam War thought to have been killed has died in upstate New York on Thursday, April 3. She was 67.

No immediate cause of death was provided.

Word of her death sent ripples through the broadcast community. Deborah Turnness, President of NBC News expressed the following: "She was such a force. Whenever she entered the room, you knew she meant business." No comment was readily available from any of the AWM families, including Atlantis Cable News.

Ms. Lansing was born Leona Lefebvre in Rochester, New York on December 21, 1947, the only child of Willem and Katherine Lefebvre. Her father established what is known today as Atlantis World Media. The family moved to New York permanently when Leona was four; she and her mother were permanent fixtures at St. Patrick's cathedral for daily mass until Leona turned eighteen. In high school, she was commended for her skills in French and communications. She then attended Columbia University and graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1968. She was engaged to her future husband Arthur Lansing shortly thereafter, but they would not marry until 1975.

Her family knew that someday she would inherit the media empire her father had built, but Leona was never content with just inheritance. After graduating from college, she started working for the family's flagship newspaper, Atlantis Daily News as a reporter. If you were to ask her in a candid moment in her later years, she would say that all she ever wanted to do was to see the story in person.

Feeling like no one respected what she was trying to do, which she would later say "To understand the business from the other side," she sold her diamond engagement ring, packed up her typewriter and went to Canada. She used her skills to get a number of outlets to hire her as a stinger to get to Vietnam and doing the one thing that most likely would save her life later applied and obtained Canadian citizenship by decent (thanks to her father).

Ms. Lansing rewrote a good deal of her history in later years. Many of the friends and colleagues from those Vietnam days were not as fortunate as her to come home. She never talked about her personal life living in Cambodia "It was not part of the greater story," she would say about it.

Others remember it differently, that she had fallen in love with an American – some say solider, some say reporter. Some even believe that she lived with someone extensively during her time there and the relationship eroded after her capture and subsequent release. The facts to that, if there were any to be had, were lost with time.

This newspaper ran a full obituary for her when it was thought that she had been killed in Cambodia while out reporting a story. Her family held a memorial service for her at St. Patrick's Cathedral. When she was released, she would later say it was because she spoke only French and her paperwork was all Canadian. Her family begged for years for her to return home and she finally did, albeit almost three years later.

She returned home in early1975 and married her long time fiancé, Arthur Lansing in private ceremony in Rochester. During the early years of her marriage, she kept close to home, having given birth to her son Reese late that year.

By 1977, her father had come to embrace her and her husband as the heirs apparent and took to teaching them the inner workings of the company. Many people knew right away that this was a great fit for Leona. "Her husband was never interested in making money, just spending it." One of her longtime friends shared with a reporter here at the Times.

By the time her father passed away in 1996 (her mother had passed away ten years prior) she was ready to helm the business and grow it to the multimedia empire it has become today. Her divorce was rocked with scandal, including her husband accusing her of having a long term affair with the President of the Publishing Division of AWM. Most of the scandal self-generated by her future ex-husband and was more of a reflection of his poor behavior. Ms. Lansing's lawyer Ms. Rebecca Halliday provided limited insight to the catalyst of divorce. "He was upset that she was unwilling to provide him extended employment for work in which he was not suited." The divorce was finalized in late 1996.

The business has done nothing but thrive and some have speculated has undergone a renaissance of sorts, including the abandoning of tabloid news and focusing instead on bringing information to the people that need to become a well informed electorate.

Ms. Lansing is survived by her son, Reese. Arrangements will be announced later in the week. Services will be by invitation only.


	8. Thursday, April 10, 2014

Charlie Skinner is sitting at the foot of his bed, holding his head in his hands, arms supported by his knees. The beautiful black suit jacket is laid out on his bed, waiting for him to put it on and he just can't find it within himself to do it.

"Hey," Nancy says from the doorway, wearing a simple sleeveless black dress cut just above her knees. "What's up?" She knows what's wrong, but dealing with it in the last few days has been new ground for both of them. Their banter is softened and her eyes have been ready to cry just as much as his. Of course, he'll be crying for Leona and she'll be crying for him.

"The suit was a gift from Leona."

Even though he's not looking, she nods. "I remember. We went into the city before Christmas, Freeman's Sports Club, I think it was. She came by while they were fitting the collar."

"I had asked her if she was fitting me for a suit for my funeral. She laughed and told me 'not exactly'."

"I don't remember that," Nancy responds softly. "She knew then."

"Yeah."

Nancy steps out of her shoes as she comes back into the bedroom and faces to her husband. She slowly gets down on her knees and works her way in to his arms while he's still sitting on the bed, hugging his torso and he does the same, his head hanging over her shoulder. "Let it go Charlie." She whispers to him. "Let it go." As she feels his body shake, her tears come as well. For the first time in her life, for this single moment, she hates Leona Lansing.

* * *

"Can we talk about forgiveness?" Charlie asks Nancy as the black town car they were riding in sped away from their home.

She smiles at him, taking one his hands in both of hers. He's back, she thinks, he's a little more focused now, speaking with a little more clarity than before. "What about forgiveness?" She asks. "Needing or wanting?"

"Both." He responds. "I never thought needed it, but suddenly I want it very badly."

"You still may not need it though, Charlie." She looks away for a moment as she gathers her thoughts. "There are things you've done, outside of Leona, outside of me. Things you've had to do in order to get a fact or the story or even save a life. You can't tell me that your life was littered with easy choices and that none of the choices you've ever made haven't hurt someone else, even if that wasn't your intent. Are you compelled to see forgiveness for those kinds of things?"

"No, I'm not because I don't know if I've even done anything to have to ask forgiveness for in those cases." He shakes his head. "You and I both know that I wronged her. I betrayed her."

"She may have forgiven you a long time ago Charlie. Maybe she never said the words to you specifically, that she forgave you for what you believe to be the unforgivable thing, but why would she continue to have you as part of her life if she hadn't forgiven you? I don't believe she was torturing herself. She must have forgiven you."

Charlie shakes his head. "She was never very forgiving, Nancy. I can only imagine that she honestly didn't know. I think I wanted her to have known. I just can't imagine the grace she's given me all these years would have happened if she known. She had every right to damn me to hell. She had every right to never want to be on the same continent as me ever again."

"Oh Charlie," her grip on his hand tightens. "Now is not the time to deny your relationship with Leona. You're doing the both of you a disservice. I'm not asking you to scream it from the rooftops, far from it. Just because she's dead, doesn't mean that she's gone. It doesn't mean that it never happened. You both may have airbrushed the nature of your relationship in the present, but I know that was because you wanted to do the news and not be the news." Nancy paused. "I mean, she saved us. Had she not offered you a job when she did, I don't know where we would be?"

"We would have been fine, Nancy."

"We'll never know that for sure Charlie. We were at one of the lowest points our life and she gave us everything we were craving, financial stability, insurance and the ability to raise Sophie the way wanted." They were both quiet a moment. "So if anything, I can't let you disparage her memory because her love for you had grown to include Sophie and me. She didn't have to do the things she did for us, but she did without condition. So let's not pretend she wasn't in love with you until the very end, even if it was unconventional at best."

There is long silence between them before he responded. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

As the Archbishop stepped down from the podium from giving the first reading during the funeral service, the church was quiet. Reese leaned towards Charlie.

"I've known since I was fifteen."

"Known what?" Charlie whispered.

"Remember when I was hit by that car in Cape Cod in 1987?"

"Yes. Why?"

"My mother's blood type was O positive. She flew you out to give donate blood because you were A negative, like me."

"Coincidence," Charlie hissed. "It's a very common blood type."

"Fact," Reese pulled out an envelope from his suit jacket and backhandedly slapped it on Charlie's chest. "Dad."

Charlie snapped the envelope from Reese's hand and looked at it to see letter Leona's familiar script. "Son de la bitch," He muttered.

"That would be me and I'd watch your mouth about my mother. You're now president of Atlantic Cable News. It'll be announced in six weeks."

The congregation was called to rise to recite a responsorial psalm and Reese without even asking helped drag Charlie to his feet because he was concentrating too intently on the envelope Reese slapped on his chest.

* * *

Reese stood at the front church, hand on his hips. He, the Skinner family and the McAvoys were some of the last people preparing to leave the memorial service. Because there was no casket to follow, they arranged to just let the guests filter out and they would receive them at the AWM building. Reese found himself glancing over his shoulder looking at the sea of flowers behind him before he spoke an iota too loud.

"I've made Charlie President of Atlantic Cable News. It will be announced in six weeks. I would recommend that he hire his lovely wife Nancy to replace him as President of the News Division." He paused for a moment, looking at the people around him. "How smart are you Sophie?" He cast a glance over at the redhead that was half his age, still standing in one of the pews, her mother right next to her.

"I'm fucking smart." She said with a heavy amount of sass.

"Good, because Sophie, you're going be President of Atlantic Cable News someday. We've got keep this shit" he waved one of his arms in a giant circle to include all of them "in the family." Reese reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope and handed it to Nancy. He buttoned his jacket and plowed down the aisle of the church, not giving anyone a chance to dispute him.

They were silent a moment before Will stepped up to Charlie and gently grabbed his arm. "Charlie? What did he mean by that?"

Charlie turned and looked at Nancy and they shared a look and she nodded, granting him permission. "Reese is my son and I'm President of Atlantic Cable News. That's what he meant by that."

"Charlie?" Will asked incredulously. He looked over at Nancy and Sophie, both lost looking at the envelope that Reese handed Nancy. They didn't even seem affected by what just happened. He cast at glance at Mac who was just, for one of the few times in her life speechless.

"There are no secrets in our family, Will." Sophie responded, with a wink.

Nancy looked at the envelope in front of her and saw her name in Leona's handwriting. She flipped it over in her hands.

"What'd you think it says?" Sophie leaned in to ask.

"My guess is that it's an apology and a plea to become Director of the News Division." Nancy cast a glance at Charlie, who was looking at his own envelope that he pulled from his jacket pocket, unopened. "Charlie?"

"Forgiveness or damnation." he said simply, looking up at Nancy.

* * *

He needed a minute.

Charlie found himself in his office now as the reception was starting to dwindle to an end. Most of the guests of AWM had left and the remaining were staff and close family like Nancy and Sophie. Mackenzie had taken them to the bullpen, there was a whole generation of people working there that had never laid eyes on Nancy and she was more than eager to see them considering how there was the distinct possibility that she would become their boss in a few short weeks.

It wasn't very long before Reese stumbled into the office obviously drunk. "I need to talk to you Charlie Skinner."

"No, Reese, you don't. You need some coffee and an Advil." Charlie got up to meet Reese and tried to steer him to a chair, but Reese was having none of it.

"I was twenty one when my parents finally divorced. Do you know why they divorced?" He flung his arms out wide to block Charlie.

"I have a pretty good idea." Charlie answered, still trying to wrap his arms around Reese to lead him to a chair.

"It wasn't the women. It wasn't the fact that the man hemorrhaged money like it was water. It wasn't the fact he was dumb as fucking box of rocks. He hit her. One time." He smacked Charlie away.

Charlie was becoming more concerned by the minute. "Please sit down, Reese."

"ONE TIME!" He yelled.

"I know Reese." Charlie tried to sound soothing. "I was there when he did it. Then I broke his nose beyond repair and gave him a concussion."

This deflated Reese at once, and he sank into one of the chairs. The look on his face was a mix admiration and sadness. "You did that? That was you?"

Charlie nodded in affirmation. "Yes. I did. I do not regret it."

At this point, the tears streamed down his face, openly and unbidden. "Do you know how horrible I felt when that happened? For years, I couldn't understand how they stayed together. The way he treated me Charlie, and the way he treated my Mom. When it happened I couldn't believe it and you don't understand how much pain and guilt I felt."

Charlie crouched in front of Reese, looking at his face. "Why Reese?"

"Because," he choked, "I knew then after that happened to her that if she knew he'd been beating me, she never would have stayed. I never told her. I didn't trust her enough. I thought she was on his side. That she knew what he was doing and approved. Had I told her the first time it ever crossed the line, you would have been there. You would have been my dad and not that monster Lansing!" He couldn't control his sobs anymore.

"Ah, Reese." At once, Charlie recognized that he was no longer listening to Reese Lansing, Harvard MBA, and polished business professional, but Reese Lansing, scared child. Charlie did the only thing that crossed his mind and lifted Reese into a hug.

"You would have been there and we would have been a family. She would have been happy." Reese sobbed into his shoulder. "She wouldn't have felt the need to die alone."

They buried their heads into each other's respective shoulders and Charlie let Reese sob. He wasn't about to argue with Reese's logic; Charlie knew that Reese was hurting enough and arguing that what he thought what would have happened never would have, was pointless.

* * *

It was shortly before midnight by the time they had gotten home. Charlie had relayed the whole conversation with Reese in the car and Nancy did what she always did best with Charlie: listen.

Sophie dismissed herself from her parents rather quickly. She knew they needed more time to talk and where she had always loved it when her father told a story, she recognized that this was a raw subject for him and decided making herself scarce for the short term was the best course of action.

Nancy and Charlie found themselves in his office rather quickly. He left his jacket hanging on the chair, his bowtie was undone and the top button of his shirt was undone. Nancy sat on the desk to his left, sans shoes pouring them each a glass of bourbon from the carafe that was on the desk as his hand rested on her knee. It was a little something between them, he often joked that he worked better with her sitting on his desk, his hand on her knee.

Charlie took her envelope first and using his antique letter opener, sliced it open. He repeated the process for his and set everything back on the desk top. She handed him his glass and they looked at one another for a few moments before the leaned towards each other and tangled arms so they could drink their bourbon from their respective glasses like newlyweds sharing their first drink of champagne as a couple. When done, they gave each other a quick kiss and unwound themselves. Nancy picked up her envelope and scanned the contents of the letter.

Letter was a generous term; it was a note and said exactly what she had predicted, plus one. "A plea to become head of the news division," she confirmed, "and she got all of my papers from CNN! Everything we need for our book Charlie!"

"Your book Nan," Charlie squeezed her knee. "Not ours." It took him a beat to pick up his letter and as he pulled out the paper, a smaller piece fluttered out and fell to the floor. His wasn't a letter or even a note, it was only two sentences.

Reese is not our son. I lost our baby weeks after coming home.  
You're the only man on the planet who wouldn't have cashed the check.

Before he could even say anything, Nancy had hopped off of the desk and fetched the wayward piece of paper. It was a check, made out to Charlie in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Nancy looked at the check and she knew at once what it meant. "Was it forgiveness or damnation?"

"Both." He said simply handing her the paper.


	9. Monday, April 14, 2014

"Hi," Nancy says as she is escorted into Will's office by Mackenzie. Nancy looks nice, he notices, in a pair of black slacks and a red blouse, brown messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Relaxed professional would be the words used to describe it.

He has a wide smile for her and comes around his desk to give her a warm hug. "Hey, Nancy, I was surprised that you're in the building. Why didn't Charlie let you up?"

Mackenzie excused herself and closed the office door behind. Nancy already mentioned that she needed to speak to Will alone as they rode the elevator together. He noticed Mackenzie leaving at once and realized that he knew the answer to his question as she spoke it.

"He doesn't know I'm here. Can I sit?" She takes a place at his table instead of his desk and fishes around her bag for a minute. She produces a worn sticky note. "I need to ask you for two favors Will, for Charlie."

"Yeah, anything," He responds readily. "What is it?"

"I need to see this person, right now. I would prefer that the call not come from me." She hands him the note. "Oh, and the use of your office for the conversation I need to have with her."

"Rebecca Halliday?" Will asks for confirmation.

Nancy nods and Will returns to his desk and picks up the phone.

* * *

Forty five minutes later, Rebecca Halliday breezes into the office in a purple dress suit, hair up, expecting to speak to Will, but finds Nancy Skinner in his desk chair instead.

"I'm sorry. I was expecting Will McAvoy." Rebecca says and starts to head to the door.

"He did call you, but it was on my behalf."

Rebecca stops her exit and turns. "Who are you?"

"I'm Nancy Skinner, Charlie's wife."

Rebecca looks away for a moment, as if she's weighing this information in her mind. "Can I help you with something?"

"I have one question. Where's Leona?"

To her credit, Rebecca didn't flinch. "I'm not sure I understand your question."

"Fair enough, I suppose. Would you like to have a seat?" Nancy stands and holds out an arm to indicate that Rebecca should sit in one of the guest chairs. The skepticism is obvious on her face and her eyes are locked with Nancy's, but she slowly makes her way to one of the chairs and takes a seat. More like plopped into the seat.

Nancy darts to her bag and fetches a file folder, brings it back to Will's desk and lays it open. "You've been Leona's lawyer for a long time, starting with her divorce in 1996 from Arthur through the Genoa case. Bravo on Genoa, by the way."

"Thank you."

"You're the one that told Reese, Charlie and Will that Leona was dead?"

"Yes." Rebecca responds.

"Did you mean to tell them all at the same time?"

"No." Rebecca responds and answers the follow-up before it is asked. "I went to tell Reese first. It was circumstance that they were all in the same place at the same time."

"Can we discuss the hospice for a minute? For the record, that turned out to be a very interesting phone call."

"You wouldn't have learned anything from the hospice." Rebecca retorted.

"Yeah, because I'm confident in saying that she wasn't at the hospice. The hospice name you mentioned at the funeral? I believe you said it was the Leo Center for Caring? They specialize in short term care, very short term. She was never there. Imagine my surprise." Nancy gave Rebecca a deadpan look. "She was at her family home the entire time."

Rebecca started at Nancy from her seat, mouth slightly agape.

Nancy riffles through the folder. "I have copies of invoices from local grocery stores and building services for her house in Rochester."

Nancy pulls a few and sets them out on the desk in front of Rebecca before continuing.

"Oh, and by the way, everyone else may have bought your bullshit story about the cremation, but I didn't. New York state statutes does in fact allow for direct cremation, but funny thing about that. I've been unable to find a crematorium in Monroe County that performed one for Leona or any variation of her name."

"I'm not sure what to tell you." Rebecca says, looking away from Nancy.

"Listen," Nancy said, "It's wonderfully convenient that all of her letters appear at our doorstep and the all of my documentation from CNN is forthcoming. I don't care how much you get paid, but that's fast even for you. There is no way that stuff appears that quick after someone is supposedly dead and cremated; it just doesn't work that way. It was just a little too efficient in my opinion. A little too well orchestrated."

Rebecca looks away for a second and Nancy can tell that she's contemplating what has just been said.

Nancy was waiting for Rebecca to talk and decided that point to just fuck it. "Plus isn't awfully strange that you booked a flight to South Korea on April third with no return airfare and yet here you are."

"Now how the hell do you know that?" Rebecca asked.

"A reporter never compromises their sources. I may not have been very active the last few years but I still have favors to cash in and chips to trade."

"She really is dying." It's a whisper. "She just wanted to make sure that certain things got done."

"Is?" Nancy says, standing upright.

"It could be 'was' at this point. I don't know."

"You don't know? What the hell, Halliday?" Nancy can feel her temper reaching new heights. "I have another question for you." She goes back to the folder on the desk and finds a weathered envelope. "Do you recognize the mailing address?" She thrust the envelope to Rebecca, and Rebecca takes it.

"Where did you get this?" Rebecca asked.

"You tell me, I'll tell you. Do you recognize the mailing address?" Nancy said.

"Yes." Rebecca responded.

"It's the address of the apartment she shared with Charlie." Nancy said.

"Charlie? Your husband Charlie? Charlie Skinner?"

Nancy started at Rebecca. "Yes." Nancy paused. "You didn't know."

"I knew… I didn't know his name. I didn't know it was Charlie." Rebecca admitted. "You can't just tell the world about this. All she wanted to do was… not be worried about or waited on or treated like an invalid. She just wanted…"

"To take a last bit of control over something she has no control over." Nancy finished. "I don't need to tell the world. I just need to tell Charlie. That's all. He's always been in love with her Rebecca. I need to just give him this last chance to make amends… I've got to tell him."

"No!" Rebecca says. "It's not what she wanted. She didn't want anyone to suffer."

"Well, she called it wrong, because he is. He is suffering. She should have known better." Nancy said, clenching her fists.

"Have you considered that maybe she doesn't want to suffer?"

"I think she's been suffering for years and returning to Phnom Penh is a last attempt to be happy." Nancy, emotionally exhausted plops into Will's chair. "Just tell me how bad it is so he knows what to expect."

Rebecca sighs and now clenches her fists. "It's lung cancer. One and a half to three months left is what they told her at the end of January. She was healthy enough to undergo chemotherapy so it helped her quality of life, but there's still nothing more that can be done. When I saw her last," She paused a moment before continuing, "She was still able to breathe without oxygen but the fatigue was starting to creep in as well as the weight loss."

"How long have you known?"

"Ten months. She told me at once. She was taking it in stride; you wouldn't have known anything was going on. She was still exercising every day, eating well, just visiting the doctor a lot more frequently. " Rebecca was quite again as she searched her thoughts. "It really was about the time she entered the hospice that it started to change her emotionally. Things that were interesting to her before were suddenly not anymore. Then she was obsessed with funeral planning and obituary writing. I kept all of that and later destroyed it. Reese needed to deal with things in his own way, but I didn't want to dissuade her because it was keeping her alive, if only for a little while longer. I did have the two letters delivered as you know and I did coordinate with CNN and the Department of Justice for all of those documents as she asked me to do. It was then a few weeks ago, we talked about when we were the happiest in our lives. That's when she told me about her time in Cambodia as a reporter and living with the one man that she ever truly loved. I didn't know she was talking about Charlie."

"So the two of you planned it?"

"Yes, as an attempt to keep Leona engaged with life for a little while longer. She talked about how they met and the hotel where they had their two first dates. She talked about the reporter's offices and how they eventually shacked up in this little apartment. It was all the months before she went missing, that was her focus. It was truly what she thought was the best time in her life." Rebecca pressed her lips together. "I'm not sure when it became serious, but it was and suddenly she's making phone calls in French and making arrangements and spending money so she can go. She bought the same damn little apartment and hired a nurse and tells me that this is for real and she wants to avoid going to a hospice. It's suddenly the most passionate I've seen her in weeks and… I couldn't help myself."

Nancy closes her eyes and lets out a breath. "She has a way persuading people, doesn't she?"

Rebecca nods, trying not to cry. "Nancy. How did you Sherlock this situation?"

"She employs a whole floor of reporters! Did she think no one was going to look into it?"

"You don't work for her." Rebecca retorted.

"It felt wrong." Nancy said simply.

"Stranger things have happened." Rebecca said simply.

"I know everything about the life Charlie and Leona had together. I've known everything for years, Rebecca. Charlie and I, we don't keep secrets. "

"Does he know about what you've been doing?" Rebecca asks.

"Not yet, but he will shortly. I have one last question. Where did you get the cremated ashes? That was something I couldn't figure out."

Rebecca nodded in understanding. "They weren't ashes. The urn was comprised of the contents of my vacuum cleaner."

Nancy gave a weak smile and then hung her head. "You know I've got to go now."

"Yeah," Rebecca said, now looking out of the windows of the office. "I know."


	10. Thursday, April 17, 2014

They arrived at the hotel later than he expected. Well, if Charlie was honest with himself and he was working very hard to be, he didn't know what he expected. It had been over thirty nine years since he set foot in the Hotel Le Royal in Phnom Penh. The driver from the airport talked about how the hotel was restored in 1997 and been reopened as the world class resort hotel that it now was. The building was beautiful and in much better shape than he had ever seen it in his lifetime. Nancy watched him and saw how just like a small child, the wonder behind his eyes as he took everything in.

He didn't leave Nancy right away because he wanted to be sure that she was settled and had everything that she needed. When he started to make mention of staying in the room for dinner, Nancy gave him the unspoken permission she finally realized he was searching for. "Charlie, you need to go." She watched him swallow the invisible lump in his throat and shake his head in acknowledgement. He held her wrist, pulled her against his body and planted kisses on her forehead as his other arm held her close.

Charlie hired a driver from the front desk and let the car wind though the dark streets of Phnom Penh that echoed with familiarly and the impact of the current world. The only one thing that truly kept him from slipping back into time was the prevalent use of cell phones by everyone that he saw. It seems almost worse than New York, everyone had one planted to their ear or had one clutched desperately in their hand.

When they arrived, the driver left a card with the information for the hotel to call for a return ride. He looked at the ordinary grey building for a long time. He suddenly remembered why they moved here and the memory picked at him a little bit. She had been harassed while living at the Hotel Le Royal and as their relationship progressed, the harassment took a turn that he couldn't abide by. So the fact that she was here and not at the Hotel Le Royal wasn't lost at him. She wanted to feel safe.

He didn't have anything on him, any offerings or gifts of consideration for her. For a fleeting second he thought maybe that he should have something but dismissed the thought just as quickly. It would probably end up as fight; in fact he realized that if this was really happening he was about to be violating her wishes. There didn't need to be any more ammunition such as last minute gifts. He shrugged off his jacket and dangled it off one arm as he entered the building and easily remembered where the stairs were to walk up to the fourth floor.

The door was slightly ajar. He assessed that this was not purposeful. In fact, he remembered that sometimes the door failed to catch when it was intended to be closed. As he drifted there to hear and see what he could, he heard a soft voice speaking in French. He could tell that the voice belonged to a woman, it was a local voice. His French was incredibly rusty and he wished that he thought to brush up during the flight on the way here. He was able to pick out the important pieces, that she did well eating her dinner, more than she had in days. Then he heard her name, Miss Leona.

That was enough for him to knock on the door and push it open, sure and unsure all at once that he wanted to see what it was he was about to see.

She locked eyes with him at once from her place on the bed. He didn't waver and didn't even take a moment to take a look at the surroundings. The space was the same but nothing else was. The inside was polished now with the microscopic kitchen area looking like it was out of Swedish catalog with a table and chairs to match. The largest room was occupied by a full size bed with detailed dark wood headboard and footboard which one would recognize as local craftsmanship. They are just looking at each other as the small woman that was tending to Leona is suddenly in his face rambling on in French and holding her arms in front of her, indicating that he should leave. Charlie breaks eye contact with Leona to face this woman, dark hair and eyes, but in modern dress with a smart blue blouse and black slacks. Charlie is raising his hands taking a step back as the woman verbally unleashes on him when Leona intervenes.

"Mon ami," _My friend._ It comes out as a rasp, not as loud as she needs to be, so she says it once more, differently. "Mon copin." _My friend._

Charlie realized what she said, even though it wasn't very loud. "Ami," _Friend_, he tells the woman. "Ami." _Friend._ The woman turns to Leona who was now sitting straighter in her bed than she was before and Leona nods.

"Tu peux quitter la pièce, maintenant." _You can leave the room now._ Her intent is clear, but Charlie notices at once that she was labored in saying it. "Revenez demain." _Come back tomorrow._

The woman looks Charlie with a look that he immediately interrupts as displeasure, almost as if this stranger is silently angry with him for not being here sooner. She comes back to Leona and collects the dinner tray off the bed, leaves it on the small table and fetches a purse from one of the chairs. Charlie has shifted out of her way and within a few moments, they are alone and he's just standing there, looking at her and finally the surroundings. She's surrounded in clean white sheets and blankets, and he can see she's chosen grey pajamas, a men's style. He didn't think this was a farce, but he can see in her face that it is in fact not an act, she is gaunt and etched with exhaustion lines.

She's examining him now, in his white dress shirt and khaki pants. He was wearing clothes as if he was visiting her in the office during normal working hours. She watches as he drapes his jacket over one of the chairs and finds himself standing at the foot of the full size bed. He looks at his shoes for a minute and finds himself, digging his hands into his pocket he simply looks at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He can see her visibly take a deep breath as she prepares to answer. It takes a moment before the words come. "Didn't want you to worry."

His breath lets out a small snort. "That's not an answer. In fact, I think that's its rather rude on your part for you not to let people in your life express their love for you."

Leona looks away now and Charlie sees one of her hands clutch a fist full of sheets. "People."

Charlie waits because it's all too obvious that it's a struggle not only to speak but to even find the words. She was never very good with her words whenever he called her out on the carpet about actions she's taken. That and now the fact is that it's compounded because of her health that she is unable to retort as quickly as she wants.

"People ignore the dying." She takes a moment to take another deep breath. "Had things to do."

"Leona!" it's somewhere between a shout and chastising her. "People would have listened to you. Rebecca listened to you! She did everything you ever asked of her and things I'm pretty sure you didn't ask her to do. Why did you think she did that?"

A small smile appeared on her face. "Paid her."

"You paid her." Charlie repeats. He's trying not be infuriated with her, but he realizes that she's just being herself. The way she never wants to do the expected or respond in the way people think she should. Charlie finds himself now coming around to her right side and sitting on the bed. He finds her hands, and not with a little bit of resistance he frees the one that had been holding the sheets. "Lee. Leona. My Lovely Leona." He looks at her face, making sure he can see her eyes as he spoke. "You know I would have done anything for you. Anything you would have asked of me I would have done it for you. Believe me."

She shakes her head no in rebuttal. "Couldn't ask you to." She tries to wiggle free of his grip and he's not relenting. She takes another breath and these words come out quickly. "Not mine."

He's hurt. Her words hurt him more than probably either of them imagined. He lets go of her hands and turns away from her, looking outside the window. Charlie covers his mouth with his hands. He can feel it now; the elephant in the room, their collective past they thought was neatly packed in suitcases that were weighed down and thrown into the deepest depths in the ocean. "You've always had heart." He says simply. "I made choices. Choices that I thought were the best and don't think I haven't been haunted by them. All the things I've done, I've done out of love Leona, out of my love for you."

"Know that now." She says, short of breath from behind him.

"Really?" Charlie asks as turns back to look at Leona. "The love I had for you from the moment we met? Do you know how many sleepless nights you caused me? How much I went out of my mind whenever you would do something stupid? Believe me when I tell you that you have done a lot of stupid things. I still can't forgive myself because I could have saved you from so much unnecessary suffering. Had I known then what I know now, not a single hair on your head would have been out of place and you would have been safe. I would have willing gave up knowing the greatest love ever just to revel in the knowledge that no harm would ever fall on you. "

"Time together would have been shorter." She struggles to say a moment later.

"Leona! I was constantly fighting with myself and it boiled down between having you and wanting to protect you. Because I knew deep down that if you went home we would never be together again. I had your heart and you had mine and I just wanted us to be together while we could. All those years ago, we were living in a different reality and nothing that happened here was ever going to translate into real world. Then everything changed and it wasn't just you I was trying to protect anymore!"

"You never asked what I wanted." She struggles to say those words and falls back on the pillows. "Tired."

"I know you're tired. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I never asked you what you wanted. " Charlie gets up and finds the path to the bathroom and engages in a very familiar routine. Everything in the bathroom is shiny and new, with a shower to boot. He starts the water in the sink and splashes his face a few times, finding a towel to dry it. He looks at himself in the mirror and decides for the first time that he in fact looks old and tonight, for a moment, foolish. Like a tired old lovesick fool. He also thinks that this not going well, not that he had any idea on how this was going to go. He fitfully chucks the towel he was using on the floor.

He stares at himself for a moment longer before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, setting it on the sleek modern sink. Charlie looks at his hands for a moment and slowly removes his gold wedding band, staring at it like it was a foreign object. Because, for whatever reason tonight, it was a foreign object, it simply didn't belong in this narrative. He set it on the sink as well, opposite of his wallet and returned to the room.

She was struggling to get comfortable, trying to sleep on her right side. Charlie came to the edge of the bed, toed out of his loafers, pulled back the comfort slightly and placed one knee on the bed as he reached under her and helped her into a more relaxed laying position. When he was satisfied she wasn't moving around anymore, he simply climbed into bed next to her, looking at the ceiling with his arms behind his head. Her back is against his side and they say nothing for a few moments before he decided to speak again.

"I'm sorry I never asked you what you wanted. I'm sorry I didn't think you were capable of taking care of yourself or able to make your own decisions." He tilted his head towards her. "You've proven me wrong on both counts, multiple times since."

"Young." He hears the retort from her, muffled as she was facing away from him.

"We were ridiculously young, especially you. We were young and reckless and you were nothing short of fucking fearless. You weren't afraid to speak your mind or tell someone to go to hell. How I watched you run into a burning building or run towards gunfire instead of away, I should have known that you were made of sterner stuff than I. I swear to God it got even worse after… after you came back. After twenty three days of utter darkness."

Leona starts to shift now and she ends up rolling towards Charlie, her head finding the crook of his arm, his arm reflexively wrapping around her. "Don't." This is all she says to him to stop him from going there, from talking about those events.

"Okay," He says to her and absently plants a kiss in her hair. "I'm sorry."

The silence is comfortable and Charlie is taking a strange comfort in just listening to her breathe against him, like she used to all those years ago. This is when he realizes that he's not her for her, but he's here for himself. Part of him knows that she knows it too, because she would have sent him packing the minute he saw her. He's looking for something from her and knows that he will get there eventually. He's not Leona; he can't just blurt things out like she does without considering the consequences of doing so. He's never been like that. He's always been keen to observe before speaking and to make comparisons and to contract different sources of information. Sometimes to the point of having to write things out in order to full understand the events as they related to one another.

He did some of this writing while on the flight. He threw all of it away once they landed; he felt no need to keep any of it. Because there was something else that was bothering him, something he thought for sure was true and now had learned that it wasn't. It was a secret he kept for all these years and it turned out it wasn't even true. Because the baby was the catalyst and what finally put into focus for him that he needed her to be safe, because while she was well within her right to do whatever she wanted with herself, he granted her no such grace to endanger a child, their child. So when he had heard later that she had been married and a baby followed sooner than should have been logically possible, he thought he did the right thing by his child.

Charlie didn't have the privilege of knowing Reese as a child and now knows that Reese was probably not a happy one. He couldn't understand why Reese behaved the way he did unit a few nights ago and Charlie would readily admit the he held contempt for the man he had become. Now, with new information, he wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't going to breathe a word about what Reese admitted to him. There was no point in devastating her now. "Was Lansing Reese's father?"

Leona nods the affirmative into his chest. "Premature."

"I thought for years…why didn't you say anything?"

He can feel her take a deep breath. "Didn't want you…" She has to take a moment before speaking again. "To think it was for nothing."

Of course she would do that. It's the most logical thing in the world for him to hear. It was one of the most agonizing decisions he ever had to make on his part and if he ever found out that he sent her away for nothing, it would completely destroy him and instead of doing the damage it did to him. As he finished the thought, his heart started to ache, because she just admitted in a roundabout way: "You knew it was me the entire time?" His voice cracks now. "You knew I was the one that told your family where you were? You knew for all these years Leona?"

She nods in the affirmative again. "Who else?" She whispers, her voice labored even more than before. "Fate."

He doesn't know where it comes from, but the words just tumble out of his mouth. "What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide." With that, there is nothing more to say between them.

Since her admission, he doesn't know how much time has passed. She's been calm and content in his arms and he's not sure if they have both been awake the entire time, sleeping or a combination of the two. He finally asks for what he's wanted to ask her all night long. "Leona. Do you forgive me?

In the clearest voice she speaks the least impaired sentence she's spoken all evening. "Charlie, there is nothing to forgive." With that, she effectively declared the conversation was over.

He couldn't have told you the exact time it happened. They had rolled to their sides, her back to his chest and they had been like that for some time when her breathing eventually slowed and then ceased. He stayed there for a while longer as his mind cataloged the details for later recollection before kissing her hair a final time and extracting himself from the bed. He returned to the bathroom, collected his wallet, and placed his wedding ring on his finger. He came out, found his loafers. He looked at her figure one last time before he found his jacket and walked out the door.

He decided not to call anyone for a ride and walked the miles back to the hotel.

The sun had been up for quite some time when he finally walked into the hotel room. Nancy was there, sitting at the desk, red hair pinned up on her head with strands escaping. She was wearing her glasses as she poured over a book with a note pad to the right, her pen making some absent comments. When the door clicked behind him she shot to her feet at once. She looked at Charlie and was surprised at what she saw.

He looked amazing. His face was full, his eyes were bright and his shoulders were square. She hadn't seen him look like this in months. She closed the distance between them and his arms instantly wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, causing her to instinctively look up at him. "I want to do the news. I want to do something that we can be proud of together. I want - no I need you to be there with me. The two of us together working together again on getting stories and producing the news just like we used to for CNN. Please say yes. Please come to work with me, for me."

"Yes, of course Charlie." He dips his head in and kisses her with a ferocity she hasn't felt in a while and it leaves her breathless. "Charlie?"

"Grab your bag. There's word that Minister of the Interior is blocking protests and I want to get that son of bitch on record as to why he's been quashing multiple peaceful protest attempts."

Nancy is taken aback but finds herself a moment later and scurries to find her messenger bag. Charlie finds his phone on the night stand and thumbs through the numbers until he finds the one he wants. "Hey Mac, Charlie here. Can you get me the names and the numbers of some of the stringers we have in Phnom Penh?" A pause before he speaks. "No, I'm here. I'm in Phnom Penh right now. I was out on a walk this morning talking to some folks and there are people trying to mobilize yet again to have the 1991 Paris Peace Agreements implemented. This will be their fifth attempt since October and its reaching critical mass." He's at the hotel room door and as he opens it, Nancy darts out in front of him, and they are ready to go.

Ready to do the news.


End file.
